


Baby, it's cold outside.

by Leafling



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafling/pseuds/Leafling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a dilapidated shed in the harsh winter does have its perks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, it's cold outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this 'cause I found some time to finally write again. Unbeta'd and I don't care.

The wind howled like a lost wolf looking for its pack; loud and deafening was the sound as it resounded through the confined space of the abandoned lookout post. Whistling through holes in the window and fissures in the bricks, the shrieking gusts rattled the old building; rendering any sort of good night sleep virtually impossible, as the very real prospect that the well-aged structure could come crashing down on its occupants became more and more apparent with each flurry of icy winter wind. Even still, sleep was still a necessity and though death by smothering and hypothermia sounded bad, it couldn’t be nearly as bad as being K.I.A’d from a sniper round in the eye-socket by Russian soldiers if they weren’t at peak condition in the morning. 

Shivering, Roach squeezed his eyes shut and clung to the bundles of clothes he wore. He couldn’t sleep; not if he had to suffer this interminable cold. Having discarded his balaclava earlier, when he and his CO pulled up the paneling in the floor for a makeshift fire-pit and he experienced trouble breathing the thin, parched air through the coarse woolen fabric, Roach felt his face tingle as blood rushed to his cheeks and nose. 

From what Roach had heard, the cold had a habit of making people feel numb and tired; that the body would shut down if it got too cold—while he did feel numb, frozen from the neck down and trembling like a leaf in an attempt to keep warm, the tired part was something he could only wish for. Roach was exhausted from the journey and the fire-fight on the way here, (and who wouldn’t be?) but he wasn’t at all tired. Perhaps, if he could fall asleep, the sound of the window-paneling waving in the wind wouldn’t be driving him crazy. 

Burying his face into the fur that lined that collar of his coat to blot out the noise, Roach unfurled just a fraction from the fetal-position so that he could scoot back a little closer to the fire roaring behind him. Praying that the warmth would finally permeate the many layers he wore, Roach shuddered as the faintest hints of heat slithered their way into his jacket. Encouraged, he scooted back just a few inches more and was rewarded by an almost scorching amount of warmth against his back. His body went limp then as comfort found him for the first time that day—comfort that only lasted a moment more before Soap was barking at him to return to his original spot. “Kid, this is your last warning. You’re gonna get your ass burnt up in the middle of the night if you lay that close and roll over in your sleep. Move.”

Roach groaned into the insolated layers of his parka. “I’m not gonna roll over—”

“Move.” Soap repeated more firmly, voice gruff with irritation and fatigue. 

Roach debated whether or not he should obey his CO's command, when he heard the thud of Soap's boots on the floor signaling the other man's approach. Rolling away from the toasty fire, Roach grumbled as he was assaulted by the cold once again. "How come you're so chummy, anyways, Captain? It's cold as fuck; I'm freezing my arse off." Looking up, Roach was met with the sight of MacTavish kneeling over him. His CO’s beard was decorated with snowflakes and what could be seen of his face was flushed a deep cerise. Though the captain’s expression was solemn and grave, the fact that he looked just a miserable as Roach felt made the Lieutenant want to laugh. And Roach would have done so, believe you me, if he didn't think that the Scotsman would curb-stomp him to death.

Soap rolled his eyes before retrieving a flask from one of the many pockets in his trousers. Shaking the metal container so that Roach could hear the contents slosh about within, the Scotsman spoke: "If you promise to stop bitching, I'll let you have some of this."

Untangling himself from his cocoon of cloth, Roach propped himself up on his elbows and stared quizzically at the flask; as if, somehow, looking at it long enough would reveal to him what exactly was in it. "And why would I want that? Questionable fluids from an even more questionable man. It could be spiked for all I know."

"It’s Jäger, Git." Soap explained matter-of-factly, uncapping the flask he waved it under Roach’s nose so the younger man could smell it on his own. 

The lieutenant jerked back, getting to his knees as he tried to get as far away from the strong aroma brought tears to his dried eyes as possible. Rubbing his nose, looking for all the world like a bad dog who was reprimanded with a soggy newspaper, Roach glared. “That shit smells fucking terrible.” He groused.

Soap snorted. “What? Have you never had any real liquor, Kid? It’s s’posed to smell like that.”

Roach looked dually skeptical and offended, his pride having taken a hit from Soap’s comment. Face screwed up in a sour expression, he reached out suddenly to claim the flask from his CO as his wounded ego demanded he at least take a sip of the Jäger. “I’ve had plenty of drinks, just none that smelled like putrefied piss.” Raising the flask to his mouth, Roach took a quick inhale before he took a long draught of the liquor. 

It burned more than anything he had ever tried, scorching his dried throat and making his eyes spring wide open with tears afresh. It tasted faintly of black licorice and something rotten combined, searing his tongue and staining his palate with the awful flavor. The Jäger burned all the way down to the pit of his stomach, making him feel nauseated and euphoric at the same time. Roach coughed, not being able to take any more of the stuff, he shoved the flask back into Soap’s hands. “Eghh…” He groaned, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand. As the liquor sloshed around in his belly, he knew then why the older man wasn’t as cold as he had been; he felt warm, then, almost too warm.

Soap chuckled haughtily, “Too much for ya’, Kid?”

Roach shook his head, feeling disorientated as the world began to spin rapidly underneath him. “Nuh-uh…”

“Want some more then?” MacTavish grinned, holding the flask out once more.

Roach shook his head again, pushing the flask away as his vision swam. Inebriation took its toll as the lieutenant began to slur his words… or at least, he noticed that he was slurring his words. “Fuck no! That shit tastes terrible.” was what Roach meant to say, but due to his current level of intoxication what he actually ended up saying was a mess of garbled non-English that would make the queen faint.

MacTavish laughed at the pissed Englishmen before downing rest of the flask’s contents in one long swallow. Afterwards, proud and in the mood to show off, the captain turned the flask over and watched how it yielded only a few more drops before it dried up completely. Looking Roach dead in the eye, he smirked. “Lightweight.”

“Who’re you calling a lightweight? In’t drunk.” Roach snuffled angrily, reaching out and grabbing MacTavish clumsily by the thick, insolated sleeve of his jacket. 

Soap’s smirk only grew wider, “Is that so? You’re not drunk?”

“Nuh-uh… Nope. I’m stone-cold sober.” Roach reassured, squeezing the fabric in his grip as he shifted on his decidedly aching knees and tried to maintain eye-contact with his CO. “And M’ still cold.”

In a series of drunken movements that had his head spinning, Roach found himself on his back with MacTavish’s hand buried down his pants. As the captain’s fingers curled around his erection—whoa, when did that happen?!—Roach gasped and gripped onto Soap’s shoulders. “Ca-Captain!” The lieutenant panted. The coarse gloves Soap wore rubbed against his cock in a way that was so wrong that it was fucking amazing, leaving Roach absolutely breathless. It was probably because he was drunk, but for some reason Roach thought, right then, that this feeling was probably what it felt like to a dog when it rubbed its back against the carpet.

Soap grunted, pressing closer to the lieutenant’s writhing body. “It’s John.” He supplied, his accented voice sounding drop-dead-sexy as it reached octaves lower than Roach was used to. If in the morning he remembered this, Roach would now and forever acknowledge this tone-of-voice as MacTavish’s bedroom voice. “If you’re calling anyone’s name out tonight, it’s going to be mine.” 

Roach shuddered, involuntarily calling out “John!” over and over again as the grip on his cock tightened; as the rhythm of MacTavish’s hand faltered and the pace quickened; as he writhed at the pleasure his captain’s pre-cum soaked glove jerking him off incited. It wasn’t long until he came in thick white spurts all over MacTavish’s hand, panting and chanting his CO’s given name like a prayer. 

Reeling from orgasm, Roach didn’t notice Soap removing his hand or the cum-stained glove upon it; nor did the lieutenant notice his MacTavish insinuating himself betwixt his splayed legs—however, when he felt his CO’s blunt nails scraping at his hips, clawing his pants down until his arse was exposed, it was pretty hard for Roach not to notice something was amiss. “John?” He asked only to be promptly hushed up by three calloused fingers being pressed into his mouth. 

If he thought the Jäger tasted bad, the captain’s fingers were in a league of their own; right up there on the disgusting chart with death and rancid death. Practically choking on MacTavish’s fingers, Roach was thankful when they were finally removed. “The fuck—” Again, the lieutenant was interrupted, but this time it was due to those same fingers breaching his unprepared body two at a time. Choking on a gasp as he felt pain blossoming from a place that, _fuck, you should never feel pain from,_ Roach tried to wiggle away. “Agh, wait, fuck… ouch… that…”

MacTavish disregarded Roach’s steady stream of broken words, pushing on with his sloppy preparations instead. Driving his moistened fingers in and out until he needed more spit, the captain tuned out Roach’s cries knowing full well that the man wasn’t gonna break just because he was feeling a little discomfort. Soon after, when two fingers became three and Roach’s volume increased dramatically, MacTavish finally found the lieutenant’s pleasure spot. Hearing Roach’s strangled moan as pleasure found him abruptly drove the captain mad. Quickly removing his fingers, MacTavish shifted just enough to free his own cock from the suddenly tight confines of his trousers. 

“Fuck…” was Roach’s only warning before MacTavish entered him in one hard thrust, and if not for John’s erection brushing his prostate, the lieutenant would have cried out in absolute agony. The pace that was set from then on was chaotic and volatile, Roach barely feeling anything other than the painful stretch of MacTavish thrusting inside him with reckless abandon. 

It could have been worse. It could have been like the first time they’d done this: too rough, rubbing Roach’s virgin body raw enough to be worth an awkward trip to the infirmary. Even so, it was bad. Roach grunted and gasped, twisting away from MacTavish’s body as the older man pressed against him. 

Why and how Roach came for the second time mystified only him as he was damn sure he wasn’t enjoying being fucked like someone’s cheap whore. Coming in his trousers, the lieutenant was well within his right to be furious. Though, with his back rubbing raw against the itchy fabric of his long-john with each of MacTavish’s thrusts, he could scarcely find the right moment to project said fury at his CO.

When MacTavish finally climaxed, it came as a relief to both of them. Collapsing beside Roach, the captain panted as he tried to catch his breath. “Ge’off,” Roach complained, feeling dually sore and disgusted as the other man’s flaccid cock slipped out of him. “John… Get. Off.” He repeated wholly frustrated as he tried to push his CO away.

“You still cold?” MacTavish asked after a moment’s passed.

“No fuckin’ way. Not when you’re layin’ on me like this.” Roach grumbled as he squirmed underneath the hot body above him. 

MacTavish smirked tiredly, humming in self-satisfied way before lazily tucking himself back into his trousers. “Good night, Kid.”

“What… good night? Hey! Get off me!”


End file.
